


Hues of Red (and all the in-betweens)

by foursidedjade (ShisoLoveli)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi likes books, Alternate Universe - College/University, Baby Yaku, Bokuto and Oikawa are roomies, Bokuto is an artist, Daichi owns a cafe, Fluff, Fluffity fluffy fluff, Iwa-chan is hot, M/M, Minor Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa is still trash, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Fluff Without Plot, Suga the T.A.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:54:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShisoLoveli/pseuds/foursidedjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Uncle Bokuto!” Yaku cries, and Bokuto sees his nephew running towards him, his tiny legs ablur. “I’ve found someone even prettier than Oikawa-san.”</p><p>Oikawa, standing beside Bokuto, sputters indignantly, “No such thing!”</p><p>Bokuto looks to where his nephew is pointing. In the distance a guy sits on the bench underneath the Bloodgood maple tree. He’s reading a book so only his profile is visible.</p><p>Bokuto’s heart stutters.</p><p>“Oh,” Oikawa quips, staring at Bokuto’s face, “so that’s what it looks like when someone falls in love.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hues of Red (and all the in-betweens)

Bokuto stares at the blank canvas in front of him.

He doesn’t realize he sits there for hours, the departure of the other students not even scratching the surface of his consciousness.

Suga, the teacher’s assistant, comes up and puts a soothing hand on his shoulder.

“Perhaps,” he suggests, in his comforting voice, “what you need is a new muse.”

Where is Bokuto supposed to find that?

\------

When Kuroo’s university holds their cultural festival in October Bokuto decides to go. Half of the reason is because Kuroo’s volleyball team is working a yakiniku stall and Bokuto is ~~hoping for the free leftovers~~ going to support them. The other half is because a school festival is the perfect place to take his five-year-old nephew, Yaku, on his Saturday of babysitting.

When his mom drops him off, Yaku is all smiles and hugs, incredibly happy that he gets to spend the day with his Uncle Bokuto.

Yaku is tiny and small, extra adorable at an already adorable age.

Oikawa, Bokuto’s roommate, comes along, because even though he has an awful personality, for some reason Yaku absolutely adores him. Bokuto suspects it’s because Oikawa has the mental maturity of a five-year-old. He doesn’t voice this aloud though; he’s not one to talk after getting told off by that police officer last week for playing on the swings.

It’s a fifteen minute bus ride from their campus to Kuroo’s.

It only takes five minutes for Yaku to get lost while Bokuto and Oikawa stop to flirt with some female volleyball players.

“Crap!” Bokuto curses, when he turns around and sees Yaku missing.

“This is why I told you to bring a leash,” Oikawa reminds him, when he sees what the problem is.

“Just shut up and help me find him,” Bokuto instructs. Though Yaku isn’t a rambunctious child, he is entirely too precocious for his age. This leads to a habit of constantly wandering off like an old man suffering from Alzheimer’s.

“I’m telling you, they make them for children too, not just dogs,” Oikawa mutters, smiling at a few girls that walk by them. Bokuto ignores him and his too-perfectly-messy-to-be-real hair.

“Uncle Bokuto!” Yaku cries, and Bokuto sees his nephew running towards him, his tiny legs ablur, “I’ve found someone even prettier than Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa, standing beside Bokuto, sputters indignantly, “No such thing!”

Bokuto looks to where his nephew is pointing. In the distance a guy sits on the bench underneath the Bloodgood maple tree. He’s reading a book so only his profile is visible.

Bokuto’s heart stutters.

“Oh,” Oikawa quips, staring at Bokuto’s face, “so that’s what it looks like when someone falls in love.”

“In love?” Yaku echoes, which has Bokuto turning into the sputtering one. He shoves Oikawa, then bends down and scoops Yaku up so he doesn’t run away again.

“Let’s go find Kuroo and get some Yakiniku!” he says in an excited voice to his nephew.

“Yay Yakiniku! Yay Kuroo!” Yaku cheers.

They turn and head toward the food stalls, but Bokuto can’t help but throw a parting glance over his shoulder at who he agrees is the definitely the prettiest person he’s ever seen.

\------

The day goes great: Tons of girls coo over Yaku, which leads to more flirting for Bokuto and Oikawa. The volleyball team’s stall does well. Towards the end of the festivities, the goldfish game starts giving out multiple goldfish as prizes to get rid of their stock.

Bokuto gets a little too into it.

When he turns around, a dozen goldfish in hand, Yaku is nowhere to be seen.

“Crap,” he swears again. He shoves his bag of goldfish into some random kid’s hand and starts weaving his way through the crowd.

He doesn’t start to panic until ten minutes have passed, and he really can’t seem to find the little guy.

Bokuto doesn’t know why exactly, but he gets an inkling, so he backtracks his steps, all of his steps, until he’s standing there, looking at the pretty guy sitting on the bench under the pretty wine-hued leaves. He’s still there with his book.

Yaku sits next to him, honey brown hair a startling contrast to the dark sheath of obsidian-black that graces the guy’s head. Yaku’s looking upward, talking to the stranger, his small face earnest and cheerful.

The scene makes Bokuto’s heart ache in a sweet, dangerous way.

Before he can stop himself he takes out his phone and snaps the picture, making sure to frame the composition just right.

Then he walks over.

 “Yaku! Little man, don’t run away like that!” he berates, at the same time crouching down and holding out his arms so that Yaku can run into them.

His nephew jumps off the bench and leaps into his embrace.

“Sorry Uncle Bokuto, but look, isn’t he prettier than Oikawa-san?” Yaku points a tiny finger back at the guy, who raises an eyebrow and looks at Bokuto.

Up-close his face is as beautiful as Bokuto thought it would be.

“Uh yeah,” Bokuto replies, without thinking.

The guy’s left eyebrow joins his right.

_Crap._

“Who’s Oikawa-san?” is all the guy says, eyes turning to Yaku.

“Just a trashcan without any impulse control,” Yaku informs him, very matter of factly. “That’s what Uncle Bokuto always says.” He turns back to Bokuto. “Right Uncle Bokuto?”

This time both eyebrows shoot upwards.

Bokuto almost whimpers.

“Uh, thanks for entertaining him,” Bokuto says, wise enough to not reply to his nephew this time.

“No problem.”

“Say bye, Yaku.”

“Bye bye!” Yaku says cheerfully. The guy nods in parting.

They turn and only get a few steps before Yaku asks in his loud, cherubic voice, loud enough for anyone within a ten-yard radius to hear, “Uncle Bokuto, was that what falling in love looks like?”

This time Bokuto really does whimper.

\-------

“Pretty leaves,” Suga tells him the next day in class as Bokuto fills in the shapes with smeary splashes of garnet watercolor.

“Thanks.”

\-------

Later that week when Kuroo asks if Bokuto wants to come play a practice match to even out the numbers Bokuto eagerly agrees. He brings Oikawa along again. He also invites Oikawa’s boyfriend, Iwaizumi, not just because Iwaizumi also plays volleyball, but because when he’s around, Oikawa actually turns into a somewhat tolerable human being. It’s probably because of the constant foot Iwaizumi has shoved up Oikawa’s ass.

The way to the gym follows the same path they took the day of the festival. The air is dry and Bokuto can’t help but look wistfully towards the walkway leading in the opposite direction of where they’re headed. In the distance, just as before, he spots the bench and the Bloodgood maple. Just as before, the guy sits there, reading a book.

When fate comes knocking Bokuto’s not one to shut the door in its face. He takes a deep breath, but right when he’s about to take his first step forward, the guy looks up, as though sensing Bokuto’s eyes on him.

Even from this distance Bokuto can tell how dark and intense his gaze is.

Bokuto freezes. Then the guy’s head is back in place, bent over his book, as though he doesn’t recognize Bokuto at all.  

As though Bokuto is entirely unmemorable.

The whole thing only lasts a second, but a second is all it takes for Bokuto’s confidence to go flying out of the proverbial window.

Dejected, and feeling a little heart-broken, he turns away.

He only gets a few steps before he can’t help himself. He turns and looks back, just as before.

It’s later than then it was the day of the festival; the afternoon dusk casts a dark pallor against the scene. The leaves of the maple are tinged a rich currant against the hazy lilac sky.

So instead of approaching his crush, Bokuto does what any sane person in this modern day and age would do. He takes out his phone and snaps a picture like a creepy stalker. Again.

Luckily, ahead of him Oikawa is busy being a jerk, and Iwaizumi is busy telling Oikawa what a jerk he is, so neither of them notice Bokuto’s momentary delay.

He jogs to catch up with them, slipping his prize into his pocket.

\------

That night, after staring obsessively at the photo throughout yet another viewing of Alien vs. Predator _and_ the entirety of time it takes Oikawa to get through his nightly beauty routine, Bokuto has a momentary lapse of judgment.

Me 10:43pm: do you know who this is?

*Attachment sent*

Kuroo Tetsurou 10:45pm: no

Kuroo Tetsurou 10:45pm: but I wish I did

Kuroo Tetsurou 10:46pm: Nice.

Me 10:47pm: damn

Kuroo Tetsurou 10:48pm: ohoho? is that the fall-in-love-at-first-sight guy?

Me 10:49pm: fucking Oikawa and his big mouth.

Kuroo Tetsurou 10:50pm: it wasn’t Oikawa

Kuroo Tetsurou 10:50pm: Yaku told me when you guys stopped by the stall before leaving

Me 10:51pm: oh

Me 10:52pm: DAMN

Me 10:52pm: betrayed by my own blood

Me 10:53pm: surprise plot twist right there

Kuroo Tetsurou 10:54pm: life is harsh bro

\-------

“Bokuto your work has been particularly excellent lately,” Suga, praises as he examines the piece standing before him. It’s a replica of the picture Bokuto secretly holds in his phone. The second one, not the first.

The first feels too private to share for some reason.

“Thanks Suga-san!” Bokuto thrusts his chest out, proud.

In the painting the figure in the distance is a dark silhouette, too obscure to tell their identity.

“New muse?” Suga questions curiously.

Bokuto instantly flushes.

Suga’s smile is gentle and understanding.

\------

Bokuto wakes up the next day determined.

Since he only has morning classes, in the early afternoon he makes the bus ride to Kuroo’s campus. He situates himself at a seat further down the pathway that gives him an unobstructed view of the bench underneath the Bloodgood maple.

As he sits there, he realizes this elevates him from being “like a stalker” to an actual stalker, but he’s so far gone he doesn’t care.

Nor does he care that he sits there for three hours waiting, because when he sees the guy appear, walking to the bench, his heart seems to forget how to pump blood properly in a gloriously torturous way.

Bokuto’s hand is sketching before the guy can even crack open his book.

He sits there for another hour, pencil moving across the page until the sun starts to set, casting the vision before him into a fiery crimson dream Bokuto can’t move his eyes away from.

\-------

“Beautiful,” Suga approves, looking at Bokuto’s sketches.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Bokuto hums with happiness.

“Do you know what would make these even better?”

“What?” Bokuto is eager to improve.

“Getting to know your subject more. It’s often said that an artist is successful only when they're truly able to understand whatever it is they're trying to capture.”

Suga glances at Bokuto’s face.

“Do you get my meaning Bokuto?”

“I think…”

Suga’s eyes are patient.

“I think I do.”

Suga beams.

\-------

This time, Bokuto arrives when the guy is already sitting at the bench.

He walks right up to him.

“Hey.”

The guys looks up.

“Hello,” he answers, voice quiet in a way that touches something deep inside Bokuto.

He stares up, head tilted. Unblinking.

Bokuto realizes that the eyes underneath his dark brows are not actually black, but such a deep grey they almost appear so.

They’re just as beautiful as the rest of him.

“How’s your nephew?” the guy questions, breaking the silence, and Bokuto’s so busy staring at his face it takes a few seconds for him to comprehend what he says.

His eyes widen, “You remember me?”

The guy actually gives a small smile. “Kind of hard to forget when you’re told that you’re prettier than a trashcan, twice in a row.”

Bokuto startles, not expecting the joke. Then he’s laughing, because he’s honestly surprised, and he’s feeling so stupidly happy for reasons he can’t quite put into words yet.

“Right.” He sits down.

“I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.”

“Akaashi Keiji.”

They talk, until the sun dips low in the sky, and the leaves above them look like sparkling rubies glittering in the shadows.

\------

It takes a few more encounters forged from stealth stalking, and just “happening” to walk by at the right time, before Bokuto can build up the courage to ask Akaashi.

“Can I draw you?” he blurts out.

Akaashi, tilts his head to the side, his features catching the afternoon sunlight just right and Bokuto has to stop himself from swooning in place.

“Alright,” Akaashi agrees, and Bokuto is pulling his sketchbook out of his bag eagerly.

He instructs Akaashi to just act normal, suggests that Akaashi goes back to reading. So Akaashi does.

Bokuto greedily drinks him up with his eyes, finally given a reason to look at him unrestrainedly.

He sketches the line of his nose, the sharp point of his chin. Captures the silky strands of hair that kiss the top of his fine eyebrows when his head bends forward, slightly.

He sketches Akaashi's hands; long, slender hands, that Bokuto itches to touch. Since he is denied that liberty he puts the feeling into the way he shapes Akaashi’s fingertips gripping the book, lead whispering across the page.

When he finishes the drawing Akaashi requests to see it.

“Only if you tell me your number,” Bokuto replies, voice steady.

\------

“Wow man, that was smooth." The appreciation in Kuroo’s voice is apparent.

“I know! I know!” Bokuto cradles the phone to his ear with his shoulder, his hands occupied with holding the sketchpad and pencil in front of him.

“So when are you gonna ask him out?”

Bokuto’s exuberant silence is telling.

“Dude you already did?!”

“I did! I did!” Bokuto nods vigorously even though Kuroo can’t see him.

“Nice.”

“We’re gonna go grab lunch on Sunday. Then I’m gonna sketch him again.”

“Clothes on or off?” Kuroo asks, which has Bokuto blushing scarlet.

On the other end of the line Kuroo laughs loudly, as though he can see the splash of color across Bokuto’s cheeks that's as deep as the leaves of the Bloodgood tree.

\-------

Sunday’s lunch date goes well. Bokuto takes Akaashi to Daichi’s café/deli, The Black Crow.

“Where do you want to go to sketch me?” Akaashi asks, as they leave the establishment with some free cookies Daichi slipped to Bokuto with a wink.

“Did you bring your book?”

Akaashi smiles slightly and nods.

The leaves that day are as cherry-red as the jam on the cookies they eat together afterwards.

\-------

Suga comes up to him when he’s working with some charcoal. “Bokuto, I submitted some of your work to the contest the school was having.”

“What?!  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“So you wouldn’t freak out like you are right now.”

“Whoa, Suga-san. I’m not sure how I feel-”

“One of them won a prize.”

Suga laughs at the expression on Bokuto’s face.

\-----

Bokuto invites Akaashi to the exhibit.

He’s a nervous-wreck, fingertips trembling, because even though he’s shown Akaashi some of the sketches he’s done, the artwork on display consists of his more intensive pieces, the ones he’s worked on in class or at school that Akaashi has never seen.

Throughout the day, Bokuto is kept busy, talking to his professors, and other professors and artists his professors introduce him to.  He’s so busy he misses it when Akaashi arrives. One moment he’s talking to a new artist Suga’s introduced him to, the next moment he’s staring at Akaashi, who is standing there, staring at a large image of his own face, the one half-hidden behind the pages of his book.

“Ah, excuse me,” he says, missing the knowing smile Suga gives him when he sees what Bokuto is staring at.

“Hey hey hey Akaashi!” Bokuto comes up behind him, the picture of nonchalance. In reality, his hands are balled into fists inside of his pockets.

“Hello, Bokuto-san.”

They stand in silence for a few moments. Bokuto wonders if Akaashi feels weird staring at an oversized drawing of himself.

“Hey Akaashi,” Bokuto nudges him with his shoulder, “hey.”

Akaashi looks over, expression questioning.

“Are you feeling,” he pauses for emphasis, “ _big-headed_ right now? Eh? Eh?”

The pained look Akaashi gives him has Bokuto laughing so loudly several people look over.

They move on to another piece, this time the original oil painting Bokuto first did.

“This is the one that won a prize,” Bokuto tells him.

“I see,” is all Akaashi says.

Akaashi stays silent during the next two pieces.  One, a watercolor of his hands over the same book, closed this time. The other, a black and white drawing of Akaashi leaning against the trunk of the tree.

Bokuto starts to worry that maybe, Akaashi actually _is_ weirded out from seeing himself in all of the display pieces.

They come to the last one.

“I think,” Akaashi says, finally speaking, “that this one is my favorite.”

Leaves swirl and tint the canvas, a myriad of blood-red hues that almost seem to blur together across the surface. It’s an abstract pattern that Bokuto had painted, trying to capture the way the leaves of the Bloodgood look dappled by sunlight.

 “Why?”

“Because,” Akaashi tilts his head in that thoughtful way of his, “it makes me feel things.”

“Oh? What?” Bokuto’s tone is light though his heart inside his chest is beating hard enough to hurt.

Akaashi doesn’t look at Bokuto. Instead, he examines the painting. His lashes cast delicate shadows across his face in the bright gallery lights.

“For me,” he says, in that quiet way of his, that touches something deep inside of Bokuto, “that’s what I feel falling in love looks like.”

Bokuto’s heart stops.

“What do you think Bokuto-san?” Akaashi questions carefully, eyes still on the painting.

Bokuto has to gulp twice before he can get his voice to work.

“I think I agree.”

He reaches for Akaashi’s hand.

Akaashi lets him take it.

They walk through the rest of the exhibit like that, fingers linked together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Extra: Or “Why should Bokuto consider investing in a defibrillator?”**

Hint: The answer is Akaashi Keiji.

 

“Hey Bokuto-san they forgot to name this one.”

Bokuto looks to the piece Akaashi is standing in front of, or to be more accurate, _what_ Akaashi is standing in front of.

“Uh, Akaashi, that’s a trashcan.”

Akaashi smiles.

“Exactly Bokuto-san. Exactly.”

He waits patiently, until the cogs in Bokuto’s head have put the pieces into place, and then Bokuto is unable to stop laughing.

“I have to introduce you to him someday,” Bokuto says when he’s finally calmed down. They’re still holding hands.

“Ok, but the first time you bring me back to your place should be when he’s not around.”

“But how are you going to meet him if he’s not there?”

Again, Akaashi waits patiently.

“Oh.” Bokuto’s eyes are wide, his cheeks tinged a blood-red as the actual blood in his body threatens to rush downwards to other places. “Oh. Yeah. Ok. Good idea.”

He pauses and looks at Akaashi’s smiling face.

“Great idea.”

The look Akaashi gives him is enough to make his heart stop. Again.

 

 

 

 


End file.
